james potter is ready for shit to get real (potterishly) wrote in beforethewarrpg, @ 2011-05-22 22:06:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | james potter, peter pettigrew |
Who: James and Peter
What: heterosexual boys night out. Oh, and a dementor.
When: Friday night [backdated]
Where: near a pub somewhere
Warnings: alcohol, dementors.
Status: Logged, complete
James hadn’t been of age long enough to have gone out like this, though it was hardly the first time he’d been drinking with his friends. The difference here was that they were in a pub, which he’d chosen specifically because he knew Peter was feeling a bit lonely and wanted to go out and meet women. He didn’t want to exclude Remus and Sirius necessarily, except that he understood that Peter needed time to get accustomed to the new information about them. It was taking him some time to get used to it, too.
A few drinks in, though, it was all completely hilarious to him. He’d told the story of how Sirius had dropped the bomb on him, laughing into his ale - he wasn’t touching firewhiskey, because he really felt no desire to be drunk, but had supported Peter in having a little extra liquid courage - and after watching his friend have a go at talking to a girl, was trying to give him advice. “The thing is, you want to be yourself,” he said. “But the best of yourself. Don’t be afraid to show off a bit, yeah? Confidence is attractive.”
The one advantage to drinking, especially for Peter, was that it seemingly cured his stutter. Maybe it was the fact that all of his motions were slowed down. He was nursing a glass of firewhiskey, glad that James was there to stop him from making a fool of himself. He'd drank enough liquid courage to actually try talking to a woman. But it hadn't been going all that well.
"Conffffidencce eh?" Peter slurred. "But wha's a guy like meh git tah be confident 'bout?" He was leaning against the bar after scaring away one older witch. He wasn't being picky. All his friends had significant others. He didn't want to be alone.
He didn't always drink, but when he did he was easily drunk. He wasn't very big. And he was especially happy just to be out with James. Let Remus and Sirius go off and shag eachother, he didn't want to have to thinj about that.
"Look mate," he said. "'m not havin' much luck 'ere t'night."
James had not realized that the problem perhaps ran as deep as an actual lack of confidence. He knew that Peter tended to be more nervous and fearful than the rest of them, but still, he generally tended to assume that everyone was as sure of how awesome they were as he was. “You’ve got plenty to be confident about!” he said. He made a dramatic gesture with his hands in Peter’s direction. “You’re Peter Pettigrew, lionhearted Gryffindor and Marauder extraordinaire. Do you think half the people in this place have as many fun adventures as we do? Or know half of the secret passages and tunnels we’ve explored, or can do any of the things we’ve managed?”
He grinned widely at Peter, but he wasn’t going to force him to do anything more than he wanted to do. Either way, they’d had some fun, right? Well, hopefully Peter was having fun too. It was difficult to tell. “We can call it a night, if you want.”
Peter grinned abit at James. His friend always knew how to make him feel better. And awesome. That's one of the many reasons Peter was friends with them. He didn't know why, but the Marauders seemed to think more of him than he did of himself. But that's what friends were for, right?
"Yeh mate," he said. "Ev'n if I did fin' sm'one id 'ave nowhere ta take 'er." Peter stood, a bit shaky. He was probably in need of a bed and a pep-up potion, but he was going to get back to James' first. He took a breath before signaling James it was time to go. "C'mon"
He began to stroll put of the bar, bumping into everyone he passed on the way. He probably should have let James go first, but instead he shoved through the door ofthe pub and rolled into thestreet.
Peter cackled from the pavement, attempting to stand. The summer heat had gone, but the air was humid and at that time of night there was plenty of fog from the humidity.
There was one thing that James could do, and that was give pep talks. He was very good at rallying people’s enthusiasm, even when they were down, though he could also be a shoulder to cry on when needed. Even though this particular pep talk hadn’t sent Peter off to chat up a girl, it had still cheered him up, which was good. James wanted the night to end on a happy note.
He followed Peter outside, and couldn’t resist laughing when he fell over, but leaned down to offer him a hand up. Once he’d tugged Peter to his feet, he slung an arm around his friend’s shoulder and maneuvered them in the general direction of the place they’d Apparated from. He was pretty sure he could get them both safely to his house without splinching them.
Probably because of the liquor and cheer in his system, it took him a few moments to notice his giddiness subsiding, cold and dreariness pushing at his subconscious as well as his clothes and skin, though he wasn’t quite aware of that yet. “Oh, hell,” he said. “I should’ve brought a jacket.” This was hilarious to him for some reason, and he burst out laughing, accidentally moving diagonally for a moment before getting them moving mostly straightforward down the sidewalk again.
Peter was shivering before he realized what was wrong. Why was it so damn cold? "'s summer," he said matter-of-factly. "Shouldn' need a fecking jacket." He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling a bit heavy. The alcohol must have been wearing off, and suddenly Peter could feel the depression setting in. What had he been doing at a bar trying to pick up women? He was a fat, beady-eyed kid with nothing to offer. What had he been thinking?
Soon it was so cold, he could see his breath. Peter had been clinging to James and watching his feet so not to trip. But suddenly he looked up and saw it. The cloaked face of death coming at him. Merlin, he was going to die. "J-James" he said suddenly. "Wh-wh-what is t-that?" The cloaked figure headed their way and Peter began to shake. His nerves churned his stomache, and before he could stop it, Peter spewed his night of firewhiskey and food onto the pavement.
James saw it at almost the same time as Peter, and stared. He had never seen anything like it before, at least not right in front of him; his stunned mind was trying to go through everything he’d learned about dark creatures to sort out which one they were currently up against. The thing wasn’t helping, though, which was obviously how it operated. James was freezing, cold to his very core, and suddenly felt as though all the happiness had been sucked out of him.
It was that thought that brought to mind the creature he’d read about, trained to fight under Dumbledore, but never actually encounter. “Dementor,” he breathed, numb fingers holding onto the back of Peter’s shirt to keep him from falling over. He was vaguely aware of the scent of vomit, but barely conscious of exactly what Peter was doing. The world around him seemed even darker than before, and he felt his enthusiastic energy draining from his body. “No- we have to-”
There was a spell, he knew the spell. He lifted his wand, fighting back the waves of tired. “Expecto Patronum,” he said, voice coming out slightly raspy, but he hadn’t remembered the necessity for a happy memory, so all that came out was a wisp of smoke. He tugged Peter backwards as the thing came closer, trying to give them some space. Running was not his first instinct, but if that was what it would take to survive, he’d swallow his pride and do it.
Once Peter had finished puking up the nights debauchery, he stared wide-eyed at the creature before him. It was like he was entranced. But all he could think about was how cruel the world was. He pictured James, Sirius and Remus laughing about how they were better off without him, while he was left alone without a friend in the world. It was depressing, as if he was never going to be happy again. Peter had the wherewithall to follow James’ lead with the spell. But he’d never cast one before and he simply mumbled Expecto Patronum, uncertain of what to do.
“T-that didn’t w-w-work,” he astutely observed, clinging to his friend. Peter could feel his own heart beating fast and began to panick. “It- it’s going to kill us!” His voice was urgent. He wanted to run, and yet he was too drunk and disoriented to remember which direction to go. It was like the creature, the dementor, had a hold on him that he couldn’t break. But Peter was more of a coward than he’d like. When James’ spell didn’t work, Peter panicked. Instinctively, he waved his wand and turned himself into his rat form. It was a coward thing to do, but he thought maybe it would make him feel less scared. That wasn’t the case. If anything, his small rat body trembled even more.
Peter began to run. Well, scurry. He hoped James would follow.
James knew there was something else he was meant to be doing, something that had made the charm work before, when it wasn’t working now. The Dementor was coming closer, and his movements felt sluggish. He had so much happy energy inside him normally, but the thing was feeding on it, taking away what felt like his life force. He tried to cast the charm again, but it came out even weaker this time.
His head turned when he saw Peter shrink and disappear - no, he hadn’t disappeared, he’d transformed. Vaguely, James saw the logic behind that. Moony couldn’t harm them in the same way when they were in animagus form, the same idea might apply to this situation. But he was in the middle of the street, and his form was not as small as Peter’s. The fog was growing close around them, though, and really - the thought came to him that the dementor being seen in the street was really much worse and out of place than a stag, even if it didn’t belong in a city. He summoned the last of his energy, and transformed, lowering his head to charge at the dementor.
Instead of encountering what he expected to feel rather like a skeleton with his antlers, though, he just felt even more cold wash over him, as if he’d gone right through a ghost. He turned and looked back at where he’d come, to see that the thing was fading into the fog. Somehow, that had worked - or maybe it had just lost interest. Maybe its ability to drain their energy and emotions was lessened when they were in this form.
James found the energy to change back, and breathed in deep. He still felt cold to his very bones, and awful, like all the good had been sucked out of his world. But he didn’t feel as though the situation was worsening, which was something. “Pete?” he called out into the fog, voice hoarse. “I think it’s gone. Where’ve you got to? Let’s get out of here before it comes back.”
Peter got only about fifty feet away when he realized that James wasn’t following him. He turned back in horror to see James, in stag form, charging the dementor. What was he thinking? Peter froze on the spot, glad for a moment that the street was empty. A stag in the middle of muggle London would definitely look suspicious. Peter watched as James ran down the creature, driving it back into the fog. He breathed a sigh of relief.
At James’ voice, Peter changed back from the rat. He was huddled up against one of the buildings, his knees drawn into his face, shaking. He’d been scared before, but never like that. It was like the whole world was coming to an end and he couldn’t stop it. As much as Peter wanted to sit there and regain himself, James had a point. That thing could be back any moment. And he wasn’t going to stick around for it.
Peter stood on shaky knees and called out. “Y-yes! Let’s go,” he rubbed his head and made his way over to James. “Ca-can, d-do you think you c-can app-parate?” he asked.
James was relieved to hear Peter’s voice, even if it seemed like a dream. Between the liquor in his system and the way it had drained him to get so near to a dementor, he felt near ready to collapse; the whole world around him seemed surreal. If not for the lingering evidence of horror and the air feeling frozen all around him, he might have wondered if it had actually happened.
But that was for wondering about later. He followed the sound of Peter’s voice until they found each other in the darkness and fog, and grabbed hold of his friend’s arm. “Yeah,” he said, not bothering to reassure him any further. Even getting splinched sounded almost pleasant, compared to what he felt right now. He was fairly confident that he could manage it, but he’d risk it, to get them out of there.
Turning on the spot, he concentrated with everything he had on getting them back to Peter’s house. His instinct was to take care of his friend first, then himself. They landed outside Peter’s door, and James had a moment to feel relief that they both were in one piece before he swayed on the spot and caught himself with one hand on the door and the other hand still holding onto Peter. “Warmth,” he murmured, not really capable of caring whether that made sense.
Peter was relieved. Relieved to be away from that dementor, relieved to be home and relieved that he was finally beginning to feel like he could once again feel happy. He unlocked the front door and stumbled through, despite being almost stone-cold sober now. Immediately he rushed to the fireplace to light it. Sure, it was summer. But he was near frozen, and by James’ comments he felt the same way. He snapped up a blanket and tossed it to James, taking a seat by the fire. “C-c’mere,” he motioned James to join him.
Peter wasn’t sure what exactly a dementor was, or why it was in the middle of muggle London. He’d never felt so unhappy, so helpless as he did when that fog rolled over him. After a moment of sitting in silence, Peter began to feel his body thaw. “W-what the b-b-bloody hell was that thing?” Maybe he should have paid better attention in History of Magic or Care of Magical Creatures, though he doubted anyone would survive caring for that thing. “I’ve n-never felt s-so unhappy in all my life, James.”
“Dementor,” James said, closing his eyes as he wrapped the blanket more tightly around him. He was trying to remember everything he knew about the creature, but his mind felt just as cold and sluggish as the rest of him. He opened his eyes again, not wanting to get lost in the cold grimness that was still lingering in his subconscious. “They feed on happiness... oh, I didn’t come up with a happy memory, that’s why the charm didn’t work. But I guess they don’t have the same effect on animals, maybe? The way Moony can’t turn us when we’re...”
He trailed off, thinking. There was something else, something they were supposed to have after an encounter with a dementor. Dumbledore had said - it was something so simple, James felt he should remember it. He was quiet for a long moment, and then: “Chocolate,” he said suddenly. “We need chocolate.”
Peter wanted to ask more questions, but he could tell that James was already searching his mind for all he knew. Despite some of the stupid things the Marauders had done, Peter had always felt safe - at least in a not going to die sort of way. Get in trouble? Sure, that was a risk. But this time it was like he was staring death in the face and barely managed to escape. He couldn’t imagine how James was expecting to think a happy thought while trying to cast that spell. All Peter could think of were the most terrifying memories, thoughts and insecurities that plagued him.
James suggested chocolate, and Peter looked at him. “Chocolate? R-really?” But he didn’t argue. He hobbled to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen for some. Peter’s mother kept plenty of sweets in the house - she still thought she could use them for a reward when he’d done something. He recovered a few bars from Honeydukes and returned to the living room. He took a seat beside James and handed him one of the bars before beginning to unwrap his. Peter took a bite and could feel the creamy sweetness melt in his mouth. As he swallowed it, it was like he’d taken a pep-up potion. He felt invigorated. “Merlin, that’s good,” he mumbled.
Peter nibbled on the chocolate as he hugged the blanket close to him. Slowly it was as if he was beginning to thaw. “James,” Peter began, suddenly sounding very worried. “Why was there a dementor in muggle London?”
It didn’t quite make sense to James either, except that it was there in his mind. Dementors. Chocolate. He shook his head to clear it, wondering if he’d made that up. No, he had to trust his instincts - he’d come up with the right charm in the moment, at least, even if it hadn’t worked properly. And he was pretty sure he’d identified the creature correctly, despite never having seen a real one before.
His eyes drooped, and were closed again when Peter returned, but he opened them enough to take the chocolate. He unwrapped it with numb fingers and took a bite, feeling it warm him from the inside out. He still felt exhausted, and a little bit drunk, but at least he was warm. That was an unbelievably good feeling. “I don’t know,” he said. “They’re meant to be in Azkaban.”
They both already knew that, of course; he was just stating the obvious. He tried to wrap his mind around the logic of it, why a Dementor would be in Muggle territory. “D’you think they were they only supposed to go after Muggles, and we just happened to be hanging out there?” After all, how many wizards actually spent a lot of time in Muggle London? James really had no idea, but he was fairly sure that many of them weren’t as comfortable in Muggle territory as he was, even if they had no real problem with Muggles. He took another bite of chocolate, letting it thaw him out - but the warmth seemed to just be making him sleepier.
Peter flopped backwards on the floor, staring into the glowing light of the fireplace as he thought. If Dementors were only in Azkaban, what would bring them out? “Did someone escape?” he asked. He’d never heard of anyone escaping from Azkaban before (oh foreshadowing), but it seemed like the only logical explanation for The Ministry to send Dementors out where they’d risk being seen. “T-the Ministry would k-know about this, right?” He looked a bit concerned. Everything had been changing so fast since Dumbledore’s death, he didn’t know who to trust. “I- I mean,” he paused and thought. “T-they wouldn’t send Dementors after any-anyone but dark w-wizards.”
The thought that someone could have sent those creatures after innocent wizards, or even worse, muggles startled Peter. “D-do Dementors a-answer to anyone b-but the Ministry?” How did you even control a Dementor? He knew a bit about them, even if he’d never seen one in person. How could someone stand to go up against one and survive? Maybe it was a rogue Dementor they’d seen. If that was the case, the Ministry should know. The thought terrified him. What if it had been a muggle who ran into that thing?
James put down the chocolate and lifted his hands to rub his eyes under his glasses. Merlin, he was amazed he was even awake, every bit of him felt tired. Even more tired now that he was warm, actually; the cold had been keeping him awake. Or maybe he wasn’t awake, maybe he’d dreamed the whole thing, maybe this was still a dream now. Unhappiness and cold gone, he just felt utterly drained.
“Well,” he said, “There’s two possibilities, right? Either the Ministry knew, or they didn’t.” He wasn’t sure which one would be worse, truthfully. If it was the former, then it was a sign of some very bad changes in their government, if Dementors were suddenly allowed (or even ordered) to roam around outside of the jail. If it was the latter - it meant that the Ministry couldn’t control the Dementors anymore, and someone had probably let them out. Which could also mean that dangerous people had been let out of Azkaban, as Peter suggested. “Neither of those options sounds good to me.”
He sort of half intentionally, half unwillingly slid down to the floor on his side, his partially eaten bar of chocolate on the floor beside him. He took his glasses off, checked to make sure his wand was in its place, and rested his head on his arms. “Merlin, I’m so tired.”
Peter let his eyes close for a moment, basking in the warmth of the fire and the blanket. He could agree with James on all counts. Nothing- absolutely nothing- was good about this situation. They would have to talk to - who? They hadn’t figured out who was in The Order, and they certainly couldn’t risk trusting someone who could be a Death Eater.
“Mm yeh,” he nodded, reaching up to rub his forehead. “Me too. D’you want the bed? I can take the couch.”
Truthfully, James wasn't even sure he wanted to move at all, whether to the couch or the bed. He'd intended to get himself home after making sure Peter got here safely, but there was definitely no chance of him Apparating now, or even managing to Floo - he'd end up falling out of some stranger's fireplace somewhere, asleep.
"Mm," he murmured. And then something that sounded like, "Sure," but it was followed by a little snuffling snore. Then he was unconscious, lying on his stomach with his head resting on his arms, his glasses partly falling off his face.